My Mom

My Mom

by Armando Ortiz

As a child,

my mom played barefoot

on dusty playgrounds,

and snacked on orange peels

when the hunger pangs began.

She helped around the house,

selecting harvested black beans,

dusting each dark legume clean,

putting them inside a basket,

following her dad to the cornfields

selecting ears that were just right

placing each husk inside a sack

She tried

catching tiny silver fish

with my aunt who's older than her

using corn meal

sticking it inside a clay jar

then placing the earthen ware

by the river’s edge-

every time she tells that story

there's laughter.

At thirteen,

She was given a ticket to the city,

back then there were only dirt roads,

sent to work in a cafeteria.

and then my mom sent money home,

to her parents.

At seventeen,

She was lost in the concrete jungles

of Alvarado and 6th, where she bought

a gold painted rock for half her paycheck

and sent the other half of the money to my grandparents.

She worked as a housekeeper,

then as a nurse assistant,

all her life toiling,

feeding us, washing our clothes,

driving us to see the doctor,

taking us to the park on her day off,

and sending money back home.

She is still working, but now

she buys shoes when she wants a new pair,

and snacks on green mangoes,

she mainly keeps working

vacuuming the hallway,

and wiping glass windows

and sometimes she gives me money

when I don’t have any.

I don’t think she ever grew up.